


Memorial

by Slerra



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Hinted Widowtracer, Light Angst, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Referenced Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 15:59:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7178678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slerra/pseuds/Slerra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She thinks she's ready to visit Gèrard's grave. She was wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memorial

“Are you sure you can do this?”

“ _Oui_.”

The two women stand at the arch, olden in its architecture with vines overgrowing the darkened bars that protect the cemetery from unwanted guests. One’s hair flows a dark purple behind her, reaching down beyond her knees to where it almost touches the ground. Looking closely, skin is tinged a light blue, but those who knew her before starting her recovery would vividly remember the much darker shade her flesh held. Golden hues stared at the arch, curly letters spelling _Cimetière de Loverchy_ upon its uppermost curve. The woman shifts on her legs– at first glance, they would look like very well fitted heels, but a close look reveals the pivot at the ankle,  && it’s cybernetics become obvious. Blouse revealed a tattoo that decorated her arm, even if copious amounts of eyeshadow was applied in vain attempts to cover the thing.

The other held a much more casual look. Short hair spiked up in brown tousles that framed her face delicately, freckled arms visible through a baggy t-shirt which held a blue tinted glow in its front. Jeans covered the rest of her body, reaching down to where sneakers tapped against the concrete sidewalk. This woman held a concerned look directed at the taller one. “You’re positive, Amèlie?”

“ _Oui_ ,” she repeats, reaching to grasp the other’s hand tightly. “Just.. stay by me, Lena.” Amèlie doesn’t wait for a response before entering the cemetery, dragging the other in tow.

It takes some time, Lena guiding the other through rows && columns of gravestones that the woman cares not for. She had her mind set on one thing– Gèrard Lacroix. Her first kill who, in his death, killed Amèlie, as well. Even after months of recovery, of fishing through memories she once thought were false, she still couldn’t remember how she felt for this man. She knew she had loved him, once upon a time, && she believed that, but having memories of it was different than feeling what was there then erased. Even if she couldn’t remember those feelings, she knew that he was the world to her, young lovers. She remembers paranoia after the attempts on his life, her begging for him to take a break, wait until the threat subsided. She remembers his insistence that he needed to do this, figure out Talon so they could bring it down before more people were hurt && killed. She remembers the final close call, him battered && bruised beyond recognition, Lena && Winston trying to keep her away from him while Mercy worked on him. The feelings were faint, distant, but they were there.

They were in front of the grave now, a grandiose thing with candles long burnt out && cracks starting to form their way around it. Amèlie starts to think that she should have brought flowers, taking a moment to look around at other graves with beautiful && delicate petals decorating them. Lena’s behind her as she kneels before the stone, trying desperately to feel **something** upon reading the name. It’s difficult,  && it hurts, but this was all a part of recovery. She sits there for a few minutes before, without removing her eyes from the carvings on the stone, speaking to the other that watched her. “May I.. have a moment?” she starts, but she makes an append. “Stay close, but..” she trails.

Lena nods an understanding before becoming aware that Amèlie couldn’t see her. “Of course,” she assures, setting a hand on the other’s shoulder before stepping back. She watches the former assassin for a moment before walking down the row of tombstones to sit a while away, still able to see Amèlie but unable to hear her whispers.

Confident that Lena was far enough away, lips part. “It’s been some time, Gèrard,” she speaks to the stone, hues staring at nothing now. “I’m.. not who I once was. I’m not the woman who loved you anymore. I don’t feel like I should be able to call myself Amèlie Lacroix anymore, because.. I’m not her.” She can feel tears pricking at her eyes, something that has been happening a lot lately, overwhelming emotions that she wasn’t used to always resulting in tears. Amèlie looks back up at the stone, speaking a bit brighter now. “I’m getting better now. What Talon did to me.. we’re reversing it. I can.. feel again, remember what I thought wasn’t true. I once didn’t believe you were my husband,” she has to chuckle at that. “I was.. foolish, broken. Nothing was real &&.. I wanted to believe that there was **something** for me, something to cling to.” Talking it through, things were becoming clearer. This man, the man she **killed** , used to be the light of her life, the dawn of her day, the rising moon that illuminated stars in the sky that he often compared her to, making her giggle && fluster, playfully slapping his arm. She’d never had the opportunity to **grieve** him.

It’s hard to talk now, her throat burning && eyes starting to water with spilled over tears that fell on jeans. She can’t say she misses him, no. She’s spent so long without him, without giving a single thought to him that missing him wasn’t an option anymore. But there, sitting before the grave of her deceased husband, Amèlie starts to feel that love grow in her chest, the love that once burned like the hearth they’d sit by in the cold evenings. She can’t talk, she can’t say anything else beside whimpering an “ _je suis navrée_.”

_**I’m terribly sorry.** _


End file.
